


Stay Clean and Live Without

by 2ne4 (17826)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Cunnilingus, For some characters, Hate Sex, Infidelity, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Porn With Plot, Referenced Gryles, Referenced Zerrie, Referenced Zigi, Stubborn Idiots, dubious plot but still, for others, with a conflicted ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17826/pseuds/2ne4
Summary: Harry makes a wish and wakes up in a body that's only partially not his. Or, the one where Harry and Zayn are girls for a day.





	Stay Clean and Live Without

**Author's Note:**

> title from Emotional Motion Sickness by Phoebe Bridgers

Harry felt weird when he woke, but not in a bad way, really; there was a dull ache in his upper thighs and a twinge in his back like he'd slept wrong but deep, and a soft weight on his chest. All in all, he felt like he'd had a really good fuck last night, and it was only slightly concerning that he couldn't remember it actually happening, considering the amount he drank. He also had no hangover though, so swings and roundabouts, he supposed. The thing that should concern him was that he couldn't remember solving the argument he'd had with Nick, because there was no way he'd be getting any with the way they'd left things, but he wasn't awake enough for that either.

He stretched until he heard something click and blinked until a white ceiling came into focus above him. He frowned, realising he must be back in his townhouse, except when he looked to his right, there was no window. There was, actually, hotel stationary, and on his left was - holy shit.

Someone was sleeping on their side, back to him, head of shortish black hair mussed on the pillow. Their - her? - skin was an attractive golden tan with a few black tattoos interrupting the expanse of her skin. Harry averted his eyes as he sat bolt upright in bed. Thankfully, on the bedside table next to him, his black phone was within reach, and he grabbed it as he tiptoed into the bathroom and shut the door quietly, sitting against it and scrolling through his contacts to 'J'.

"Jeff, I've woken up in some strange hotel room, and I don't know where I am or who I'm with!" Harry hissed, as soon as the call was picked up, "I'm naked! With a girl!"

There was a moment of silence, then a girl's voice, groggy with sleep, said, "Harry, what the fuck? It's like 2am here..."

"Fuck, sorry, must have clicked the wrong contact," he said, rubbing a hand down his face, "sorry to wake you."

"No, it's okay," the woman on the phone said, obviously making an effort to wake up, "I mean, I'll be your manager once tour's done and you finally pluck up the balls to tell your band, might as well start now. What's up?"

Harry wracked his brains, trying to connect something of what this lady was saying to anything recognisable at all. "Okay, I'm confused," he admitted, "who are you?"

"Jesus, H, how hungover are you?" She replied, teasing. "It's Jess? Azoff? We've literally known each other for years at this point, I'm going to be your manager once you leave Little Mix."

"Little Mix," Harry repeated, head spinning.

"Yeah, you know, your band?" So-called-Jess said with the air of someone talking to a concussed child. "Is this a prank? Am I on Nick's show, call or delete or whatever?"

Harry, who had just been wondering the same thing, laughed nervously. "Yep, you got me!"

Jess sighed, a long-suffering but fond exhale that wouldn't sound out of place on the real Jeff Azoff. "Didn't know you were on. Obviously this can't get aired though, yeah? Unless that's how you want to break the news to the world."

"Yep," Harry said, panic really starting to settle in.

"Okay, well... Talk to you later, yeah?"

"Uh-huh," Harry screwed his eyes shut, "sorry for waking you!"

Jess made a vague noise of assent and the call ended. Harry blinked down at the screen as he lowered his phone and, sure enough, it did say Jess Azoff. Whoever was running this prank was being very thorough.

"Right then," he said to himself quietly, "seems you're working this out alone." He got to his feet and splashed water on his face, marvelling at the absence of even a token effort at stubble under his hands. His diabolical lack of beard ability would never cease to amaze him. He dried his face on a fluffy white towel and looked in the mirror and almost screamed.

His first thought was that his long hair had grown back overnight, and then some, falling a couple inches longer than it ever had before. His second thought was that his face looked really fucking weird, and his third was, shit, boobs! In the mirror, a girl was blinking back at him who kind of looked like him and also kind of didn't. She was a bit like Gemma, or pictures of his mum when she was young, but she had Harry's tattoos on her body. Or were they Harry's tattoos, because they were the same images but slightly different, as if a different artist had done the butterfly and the swallows. Harry looked down and realised the laurels weren't even there, but beneath where they should be, he definitely had a vagina.

"What the fuck," he said, and the girl in the mirror said it too. Now he was paying attention, his voice definitely wasn't low enough to be his normal morning drawl. "This has to be a dream," he said firmly, and pinched himself, but his mind stayed where it was, in this body, in this bathroom. He stared at the reflection for a few seconds longer as he formulated a plan. Go out, fall asleep, wake up back on his sofa in London. Easy. Sure.

He opened the door as quietly as he could, walking gingerly to the bed and only clocking his unknown roommate in his peripherals because, dream or not, he didn't want to creep on sleeping women. He settled in slowly and squeezed his eyes shut, heart racing.

Go to sleep, he told himself, go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep.

"Mornin', darling," came a Bradford accent, familiar in a way that tugged at his lungs, and Harry could punch his own head for making this a part of the dream. He opened his eyes again.

The girl had turned over and now her tattoos were easy to recognise, along with her dark eyes and sharp jawline.

"Zayn?" He asked, dreading the answer.

"Lucky you," the girl replied, voice saccharine in the exact way the real Zayn's had been when they used to go on the pull together. She propped herself up on one elbow. "And what might- shit!" She flinched back as a strand of hair fell into her eyes, and her hand came up to tug on it as if she expected it to be a wig.

"You too, then?" Harry asked drily.

"Me too what?" The Zayn-girl asked, voice going quick in the way that indicated a panic attack was imminent, "what have you- who are- what the fuck?!" She- he had one hand on his own tits, then almost involuntarily grabbed between his legs.

"Calm down," Harry said, "you're just a figment of my imagination, though why my brain chose you, God only knows."

"Fuck off am I," Zayn spat, pulling the covers over his chest as he squeezed himself into a ball against the headboard.

Harry frowned. "Wait, you're actually here? But this is my dream!"

"Well, evidently not, you fucking pervert! Who even-" His eyes fell to the swallows on Harry's collarbones. "Oh." His voice was suddenly devoid of emotion.

"Yeah," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Zayn suddenly wouldn't look at him. "Well, that's mature," he said sarcastically, then glanced at the clock. 09:58. He swore and tapped the radio button.

"-and that's it for today," came a female voice with a bright Oldham accent, confirming Harry's worst suspicions, "handing you over now to Mr Clement Amfo!"

"Thank you, Miss Nicola Grimshaw! We'll kick today off with-" Harry shut it off again and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, going to iMessage. Luckily, the top one was called 'nicki minge-aj'. He clicked on it and a long string of texts appeared, culminating in one he did remember receiving back in his normal body. Something like shame dropped into his stomach; they were having the same problems here as in the real world then. He locked his screen and dropped his phone again, before picking it up and opening chrome.

"Okay, so we're both still in a band," he said after a few minutes of furious googling, "except we're in Little Mix with Leanne, Louise, and Niamh, and One Direction is four dudes called Liam, Jake, Perry, and Jeff."

Zayn didn't react except to stand and pull on a bathrobe that had been hung on the bedpost.

"I'm still dating Nick but I don't think people know," Harry said, "and you're engaged to Perry."

Zayn wiggled a finger at him, and Harry thought he was swearing until he saw the engagement ring glittering there. "Put on a fucking top, Harry," he said, voice suggesting he didn't care either way, and he made to leave.

The door, however, opened onto a girl walking down the corridor with an athletic build and her brunette hair pulled into a ponytail, obviously coming back from a workout. Harry had never seen Lottie without makeup, but he imagined she looked a bit like this. "Harry and Nick having problems, then?" She snorted when she saw Zayn, then waved at Harry under Zayn's arm. "Morning, princess!" The accent and sarcasm were both fully Doncaster.

"Fuck off, Lou," Harry said and jumped off the bed, slamming the door in one smooth motion, Zayn still trapped inside. Zayn gave him a flat look. "We're the only ones," Harry said.

"How do you know?" Zayn said bitingly.

"I just do," he replied, "and you know I'm right."

"Fuck off, Harry," Zayn said, but he sat back down on the bed. He still had his piercings, and with his severe bob haircut, he looked just as gorgeous in this body as he did in the real world. Or the waking world. Or the other world, Harry didn't know, he was developing a headache just trying to work it out.

He rubbed his temples as he stepped back and leaned against the desk. "So, what do we do?"

Zayn just shrugged.

"Oh, that's helpful," Harry groaned, "pull your weight, mate."

"Put on some fucking clothes, _mate_ ," Zayn mimicked his voice then went back to being stony-faced impassive.

Harry bit back a swearword-laden response and picked up a t-shirt and a pair of knickers off the floor. He only realised it was a crop top after he put it on, but he wasn't going to look like he cared about that in front of Zayn so he sat back on his side of the bed, the opposite corner to Zayn. "What do we do?" He repeated.

"Work out how we got here," Zayn said, as if it were obvious, "then do that to get back."

"What do you mean, how we got here, this is crazy! This must be-" Harry was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Harry?" The voice was higher, but recognisably Liam- Leanne, Harry corrected himself. "The bus is leaving in ten, so if you, uh," she continued delicately, "if you see Zeina, could you let her know?"

"Sure, thanks," Harry called back, as he and Zayn held themselves still like any movement might give them away.

"Cool, it's a bit of a drive to Sheffield, so we should be there a little before soundcheck, then show starts normal time," Leanne said.

Fuck. "Okay," Harry said, a second too late, "thanks!" A show, shitting hell. He turned back to see Zayn engrossed in his phone. "What the hell do we do about that?"

Zayn turned his phone for Harry to see that he was reading a Wikipedia article. "We're promoting the new Little Mix album," he said, "so we just sing that."

"I don't know the new Little Mix album," he hissed.

"I do," Zayn said, uninterested, already googling something else.

"You do?" Harry repeated, confused.

"Course," he said like it was obvious, and he stood again, going to the door without looking up from his phone. "See you on the bus, Harriet." With that, he left.

 

25 minutes later, Harry ran onto the waiting bus, a bewildering array of hair and makeup products stuffed in his bag and some loose jeans thrown on with his crop top; he had no idea if they matched.

"Sorry," he said to the first person he saw, a pale girl with her hair drying in a towel.

"No worries," came the Irish accent and Harry realised with a jolt that this must be Niamh. She grabbed his forearm and stepped close. "Y'alright, Harry?"

"Yeah," he replied, trying to sound breezy and normal, which of course meant he sounded like neither, "why?"

"Well, Zeina was in your room last night, so, like," and she was obviously steeling herself to say this, "how's Nick?"

"Umm," Harry hesitated, and that only served to make Niamh look more sympathetic. "We'll be okay."

"Yeah?" Niamh was doing the same thing that Niall did, where he was trying so hard to be understanding that he actually looked a bit constipated. Harry pulled her in for a hug.

"You're the best," he said, cutting off the nickname that was itching to fall from his lips. Niamh only kissed the side of his head and let him move on.

Harry made a guess at which bunk might be his based on what he used to bagsy back on the 1D tourbus and pulled his curtains closed, plugging in headphones and settling down to learn his parts off a recently downloaded deluxe edition of Glory Days, with Get Weird and the previous Little Mix singles lined up for after that. He figured he had about 6 hours, so he could give it a bloody good go, and if they had choreography, he'd burn that bridge when he came to it.

 

3 hours later, as The End played, and a memory of Perrie crying in a fancam on youtube echoed in his ears, Harry realised something. He immediately tugged out the earplugs and jumped off his bunk, grabbing Zayn's arm from the last bunk on the right and pulling him into the thankfully empty TV room. He locked the door behind them with a click.

"I know why we're here," he said, stage whispering even though he knew the others couldn't hear them over the engine.

Zayn only blinked at him slowly.

"I know why we're here," he reiterated, "so come on, expert, how do we get back?"

"How did we get here?"

Harry hadn't thought this far ahead, shit. "I wished for something," he said, phrasing it carefully, "so now I just wish for us to go back, right?"

Zayn laughed, a humourless thing. "Sure."

"I wish we could go back to our real bodies," Harry said, feeling a little stupid as he said it because seriously, what the hell.

Nothing happened.

"Okay, so now we've proved the multiverse doesn't literally revolve around your every whim, can I go?" Zayn had crossed his arms and was looking bored.

"No, I know that's what got us here, did you... Wish for anything last night?"

Zayn just looked at him like he was crazy, and Harry suddenly wanted to cry. Talking to Zayn hadn't always been like pulling teeth, he remembered when they could chat for hours or sit in silence or anything in between, and it had been easy. Thinking like that had been exactly what got them here though, wasn't it?

"I wished we could talk again," Harry said bluntly.

That shocked Zayn enough that he almost reacted to it before steeling himself. "Cute," he said scornfully.

"Oh, fuck you, this is unbelievable!" Harry threw his hands up in frustration. "Fine, have it your way, let's not sort this out and not go back to our real lives and not see Nick or Gigi ever again, sure!"

There was a long moment while the engine rumbled and no one said anything, and Harry was about to turn and leave when Zayn asked, "how did you know I was back with Gigi?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Dunno, Kendall must have mentioned it."

"I wished for some great sex," Zayn said in the same careful monotone, "because Gigi was in Morocco and I was horny." Harry's eyes shot to him. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."

"You want to have sex?" Harry said, knowing he must have heard wrong.

Zayn was unbuttoning his skinny jeans. "Girls always liked your mouth," he said, "so let's start with that."

That passing reference to their previous experience together infuriated Harry; Zayn had been so casual about it, as if it didn't matter, as if they hadn't both always known that the girls they'd picked up together were just buffers.

"Fuck you," he hissed, and he pushed Zayn back onto the sofa, straddling his lap as he ripped open the jeans in one tug. Zayn thought he could just dismiss Harry, he was going to have another thing coming.

Unceremoniously, he shoved a hand into Zayn's briefs, slipping two fingers in without preamble and pressing the heel of his hand against Zayn's clit, who choked back a cry as he jerked forward, surprised. Harry leant down to catch his mouth in something that was almost too rough to be called a kiss and bit until he tasted blood.

They were both breathing harshly for a few minutes as Harry pumped his fingers in and out of Zayn, who was getting ridiculously wet ridiculously fast, and stifled a moan as Harry ground down with the heel of his hand. It was too mean and too much and had to be overwhelming but Harry didn't care, not letting up the pace even one bit as his hand started to cramp. With a featherlight touch, Zayn's fingers circled his wrist and Harry looked up into his eyes, shocked, as he gasped and clenched around Harry's hand, cumming hard.

The heat in the pit of Harry's stomach changed suddenly, no longer burning in anger but with something else. It took him a second to realise what it was, used to having a dick to tell him if he was turned on or not. It was different in this body, made him want to clench his thighs together, felt a lot deeper in the floor of his pelvis. Without thinking, he started to grind his hips, relieving some pressure against Zayn's stomach.

Zayn shoved at him until he stood back up, giving Zayn some space to catch his breath even as Harry clenched his hands to avoid shoving them into his own knickers.

"Take your top off," Zayn said, his voice lowered, even if it was still higher than the voice Harry knew. Without question, Harry pulled it off, letting the black fabric fall to the floor behind him. He hadn't paid much attention to his boobs before, too focused on not freaking out, and looking at them now there was still a lot of cognitive dissonance, but he could appreciate a nice tit when he saw one, even if it was a weird angle. He looked back up at Zayn, mouth watering as his eyes fell on the baggy t shirt he was wearing.

"On your knees," Zayn instructed.

"Take your top off," Harry said, telling himself that he didn't like being told what to do.

Zayn didn't move. "On your knees," he repeated.

Harry rolled his eyes even as he felt a wave of arousal flow through his body, head to toe, and he fell to his knees in front of Zayn.

"Little closer, babe," and only Zayn could make _babe_ sound cold and impersonal. He shuffled forward a foot or so, until he was right between Zayn's knees. In a fluid movement that Harry couldn't have managed in a million years, Zayn pulled his jeans off and slouched back into his seat, bringing his cunt right into Harry's face.

"You know what to do."

He sounded bored again, and it lit Harry up like a red flag in front of a bull. He sat still for a second, coming up with a new game plan since hard and fast hadn't worked last time, then focused up. Trying something that had done wonders for him before, he pursed his lips and blew cold air against Zayn's lips. Sure enough, a shiver ran up Zayn's body, pushing a quiet gasp from his lips, and Harry dug the heel of his hand against his own di- nope, his vagina, and fuck that was weird, but it was still infuriating to look up at Zayn's baggy t shirt and not know what he was missing underneath it.

"Zayn," he said, voice thin, "please-"

"No," Zayn said shortly. Then, "we'll see how well you do first."

Harry didn't need any more encouragement than that, and he practically fell between Zayn's legs, licking a stripe up the inside of his thigh as he went. He steadied himself against Zayn's shins and smugly recognised the feeling of muscles twitching involuntarily in response to the way he was affecting him.

"Hello," he murmured, mouth centimeters away from Zayn's lips.

"You're so fucking weird," Zayn said, but his voice was obviously hiding a reluctant laugh, so Harry called it a success. Without further ado, he pressed an open mouth kiss to Zayn, tasting the sharp wetness there and finding himself surprised somehow that it didn't taste like Zayn's dick did. Minutely, Zayn's thighs clenched around his head, and he took an experimental pass with his tongue just to see what would happen. One hand came to fist in Harry's long hair and pull him in deeper, and Harry went gladly, exploring with his mouth and nose and just a little teeth-

Zayn hissed, and yanked hard on his hair.

Okay, so scrap the teeth. Harry swiped his tongue over the area in apology and dug deeper, thumbs drawing little circles where they rested on Zayn's inner thighs. He hummed against Zayn slightly until he had to pull back to breathe, and he looked up to see Zayn's other arm thrown over his eyes as he panted for breath, shoulders shaking.

"Fuck, Z," Harry whispered before he could stop the nickname slipping out. Zayn's hand shifted so it was over his mouth and he looked down at Harry, eyes heavy and unfocused. Holding that eye contact, Harry buried himself again.

Focusing his mouth on Zayn's clit, Harry bought up another hand to curl three fingers inside of him, groaning slightly as Zayn helplessly tightened his grip in Harry's hair. After being with Nick for so long, he'd forgotten how good it felt to have a cunt fluttering round his tongue, how much he loved the heat and the taste of it all. Sucking dick was great too, he'd miss it in the same way, but fuck he was really getting into this. Without thinking, his free hand wound it's way inside his knickers and started rubbing his own clit in tandem, triggering his own gasps and moans which vibrated against Zayn. He fucked himself and Zayn to the same rhythm, building in pace and intensity to the same crescendo, until-

Harry groaned, gutteral and surprised, as his body tensed around his fingers, a wave of pleasure rolling outwards from his pelvis as he saw stars dance in front of his eyes.

"Fuck," he heard Zayn say from some distant place, and he won back just enough vision to watch as Zayn fingered himself, eyes fixed on Harry, one hand still tight in Harry's hair. Slowly, Harry pulled his own fingers out of himself and added them to Zayn's frenzied movements, curling them and twisting them them just so, and then Zayn was cumming again. Harry held still until it looked like only aftershocks twitching through Zayn's body, then he pressed his tongue against Zayn once more, mercilessly sucking on his clit until he was cumming for the third time, legs shaking as he gushed into Harry's mouth. Harry let it dribble onto his chin, tasting the tangy acid on his tongue and feeling his arousal build even as his own aftershocks still pulsed through him.

They sat like this, both gulping for air, for a few minutes, until Harry's knees were screaming with discomfort and he threw himself onto the sofa next to Zayn, tugging off his trousers and underwear as he went. He looked over at Zayn, who looked as fucked out as one might expect someone on orgasm three to look, and was met with hooded eyes. Slowly, Zayn sat up and pulled off his shirt, revealing a velvet navy bralette that cut through his tattoos in delicious ways. Zayn reached behind himself for the clasp.

"So let's talk," he said, and let the fabric fall away.

Harry only had seconds to admire his small but gorgeous tits before Zayn's head was dipping to meet Harry's own chest, tongue leading the chase around one of Harry's erect nipples. Harry choked off a gasp, back arching, and when he slumped back down, he found himself penned in by a thigh between his legs, propping him up slightly so that gravity was pushing him down against it. Hands came up to cup his tits as Zayn kissed Harry's open mouth, and he tasted blood from where he had bitten Zayn's lip before. Zayn flicked a thumb over his nipple and Harry shuddered, grinding his hips down and riding Zayn's thigh with a stuttering rhythm he couldn't consciously control. He felt raw like this, uninhibited and out of control as he gasped against Zayn's tongue, hands gripping the sofa hard enough to tear. Whatever Zayn was doing to his boobs felt amazing, and Harry had always wondered why some girls liked titplay so much but fuck did he understand now.

He cried out, high and reedy, as he clenched his thighs around Zayn's, cumming even harder the second time around and for a lot longer, his muscles shaking when he eventually relinquished his grip and they split apart once more. Harry rolled onto the floor, burying his face in what had to be Zayn's t shirt as he gulped in air, exhausted.

As his head cleared, a thought came to him, unbidden, of a door slamming in a hotel room three years ago, and of a quote from that sodding autobiography, _I was in fucking bits_ , and Harry could never tell if it had been ghostwritten.

"I don't hate you," he said.

Zayn hummed an acknowledgement then flopped onto his back to address the ceiling. "I do," he said, "I hate you."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because you make people do whatever what you want," he replied simply, "but you pretend you're not trying to manipulate them at all."

"I don't do that," Harry protested weakly.

"Don't you?" Zayn said, and there was a pause, before, "and I didn't actually wish for anything."

"I did," Harry said stubbornly.

"I know." Zayn's voice was back to controlled neutrality and Harry was feeling more and more desperate in response.

"What does it even matter?" He sighed, frustrated, "this is all a fucking dream anyway. This is so dumb."

"It's not," Zayn said.

"How can you be so sure?"

Zayn looked at him, unreadable, then sat up and grabbed Harry's phone from where it had fallen from the floor. He tapped it a few times and looked at it intently as if memorising it. Then he held it out for Harry to see. "This is your number, right?"

Harry scanned the string of digits then nodded.

"I'll text you tomorrow when we wake up then." Zayn let the phone fall and sat back.

"Why bother?" Harry asked, exhausted.

Zayn shrugged, and his hair was sticking to the sweat on his forehead. "So you know I meant what I said."

"You need me to know you hate me that bad?" Harry scoffed. "Think I already do, mate."

"No, I don't think so."

"Piss off," Harry said plainly, bone-deep tiredness catching up to him.

"Don't wish for this again." Harry shut his eyes as Zayn's voice echoed, low and quiet and familiar, and then he was gone.

 

***

 

Harry felt weird when he woke, body contorted in uncomfortable ways as he came to on his sofa in his St John's Wood house. He cracked one eye open and there was late afternoon sunlight streaming in from where he failed to shut the blinds; no wonder it tasted like something had died in his mouth. He stumbled through to the kitchen, sticking his head under the tap and drinking the stream as it covered his face, the cold water waking him properly as he tried to remember what him and Nick had been arguing about yesterday that caused him to get so blackout drunk. He pulled himself back upright, leaning on his elbows.

"If you can't remember it, it can't have mattered," he told himself with a brave stab at impersonating his own mum. He sighed and tugged a hand through his hair. What did that say that he could remember every little detail of the dream he'd just had, then? At the memory of a female-bodied Zayn playing with his boobs, Harry's dick gave a familiar stir of interest and Harry grinned at his own predictability. Then he heard his phone buzz on the couch.

Something uneasy in the pit of his stomach, he walked back to it just in time to see a notification fading from an unknown number - _told you so_ \- and Harry sat down hard on the coffee table.

He grabbed his phone, though he knew there was no use texting back; Kendall said Gigi said Zayn got through burner phones like there was no tomorrow. Still, he unlocked it and stared at the letters on the screen until he couldn't see them anymore. Then, he went to speed dial and pressed 1, and waited for the click.

"Harry?" Nick's voice was guarded, but Harry could tell from the inflection that all was not lost. He could pull this back. He'd be okay again, and he'd stop wishing now.

"Nick," he said, and for the first time ever, he began to move on.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in a moment of Big Horny so forgive any inconsistencies , i am but a simple lesbian
> 
> thanks 4 reading + any comments would be greatly appreciated , i base my sense of worth around em lol so hmu if u have anything to say ^^ ciao ciao babes


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